Milk
by Zyu The Last
Summary: For Valentines Day, Sherlock remembers to buy the milk... much to John's distress... [Fluff]


For Valentines day, Sherlock remembers to buy the milk.  
... Much to John's distress...

_S_herlock paused, tilting his head to the side as his eyes quickly darted over John's expression. His little smile quickly slid off as he picked the smaller man apart. John squirmed uncomfortably, cradling the jug against his chest.

"You're uneasy." He gave a pronounced cock of his head, lashes lowering as he gave John another look over, "...Why? Didn't you tell me to buy the mlik?"

John cringed, laughing weakly and shaking his head, trying to subdue the guilty start in his chest. He had, of course... a few weeks ago. It had become a habit, and he had never expected Sherlock to follow through with any of his nagging demands about the dismal state of their fridge and flat.

The last time he had asked was shortly before he had had a small "row" with Sherlock (if you could call it that, Sherlock had just sat there with a bored expression while John had shouted abuse at him.). It had ended with Sherlock yawning before grabbing his violin to tune John out and then John slamming the door shut as he stormed off for the night. He returned the following day to a very sullen Sherlock, and had forced the other man to promise him not to do it again. Sherlock had agreed... but the other man had refused to be cooperative with John in the next few days until Lestrade had distracted them both with another case.

The impatient twist in Sherlock's mouth brought John back to the present.

"Ah, no nevermind... it's just... You never... I mean... Thank you Sherlock, I appreciate-"

" 'It's just'?"

"Ah.. it's just... the last time you offered I ended up getting kidnapped with explosives strapped to me..."

"Ah..." Sherlock paused, his chin lifting as he shifted his weight to his back leg, hands coming up in his usual pose of thought and deduction. "Interesting..." John watched him before grimacing. He had long given up on trying to stop Sherlock from doing that... from picking apart his intentions and thoughts by just _looking_ at him.

Observing. John sighed and reached up to rub the side of his temple. It was observing, not "looking".

Great. Now Sherlock was correcting him in the privacy of his own thoughts as well. Peachy. He looked back up at the world's only consultant detective and huffed, shifting his weight in the silence. Who was he kidding? There was no such thing as privacy to Sherlock, especially when it came to matters of the mind. He grimaced, suddenly annoyed at the entire situation. It just wasn't fair.

"Well, spit it out. Don't give me _that_ look again." He rolled his eyes, abruptly turning his back as the taller man's eyebrows suddenly shot up. John knew _that_ look too. It was the look of amusement and surprise; the look Sherlock got when John made a clever little deduction that he had not expected the War Doctor to be capable of.

It was bloody infuriating.

He tried to ignore the other man as he followed him into the kitchen. John would put the milk away, put on the kettle and then go up to his own room where Sherlock's smug little look couldn't follow him. By the time tea was ready, this annoyance would pass... or so he kept telling himself. John considered himself to be a vary patient man, and he had always considered it a small pride that only he seemed to be capable of reigning in any sort of control over Sherlock.

He tried not to think of it too much as a factor of he himself having power over the other man, but rather that... for whatever reason, Sherlock had _chosen_ him to room with, work with, and perhaps even for the first time in his life, become friends with. Sherlock had seen something in the doctor that John himself could still quite not understand.

He smiled slightly, anger already fading. Sherlock was a difficult man;the magnetic core that attracted all that was dangerous and impossible to him. The brilliant detective that wouldn't bend to his powerful brother or to the whims of the working law (much to Lestrade's dismay)... but Sherlock would shift, if not only a tiny bit, for John.

Sherlock's trust and faith in him was the highest honor he could ever imagine receiving.

"Mmhn... I've upset you again." Sherlock's hand laid over John's own and the smaller man paused, looking up. Sherlock smiled in his usual crooked fashion and John let him remove his hand from the fridge's handle, allowing the other man to turn him so that they were face to face.

"Well?" John frowned, shaking his thoughts off. "Going to explain yourself, or should I expect to wake up with a gun to my head again?" He tilted his chin forward purposefully, trying to keep a stern expression. He was only half serious, expecting nothing more that a wickedly clever response in turn.

Instead Sherlock smiled briefly, straightening up. "I was only thinking about how much quicker you've become."

John blinked. "...Quick- _Pardon?"_

Sherlock ignored him, seeming to have once again lose interest. He turned, his coat billowing behind him as he made a bee-line to the sofa. "You're beginning to relate my past actions and intentions with trigger items, like milk." He smiled, toeing off his shoes before climbing up onto the cushions before settling, his laptop already opening in his lap. "Though I suppose it was a poor choice of selection on my part, but you _are_ getting a bit brighter, John." He smiled with a deep throaty chuckle, amused, once again immersed in his own thoughts. "Or rather, you're beginning to use your head along with your remarkably sharp instincts."

"I..." John closed his gaping mouth, shaking his head with a frown. "You know what? Never mind. If you're not going to give me a straight answer than I don't need to know." He turned, shaking his head as he opened the fridge door. "In fact, I-_AH-!"_ He dropped the jug in surprise with a shout, slamming the fridge door shut again.

"_SHERLOCK-! WHAT DID YOU PROMISE ME?!"_

Sherlock smiled, and the tap-tap-tap of his fingers against the keyboard followed John upstairs.

He laughed quietly, eyes lifting when the door slammed shut upstairs.

"Don't forget about the tea!"

"BUGGER OFF, SHERLOCK-! MAKE YOUR OWN BLOODY TEA!"

Sherlock laughed at the muffled shout, shrugging, looking back down at the screen. He'd have to wait another few weeks before he could lull John back down into a sense of security before continuing with the experiments.

He smiled, reserving two tickets to the finest restaurant that they could afford with a single click. Valentine's special menu? He shook his head, picking up his phone as he emailed the obscenely pink and red reservation number and page to John.

_"Dinner?_

_-SH"_


End file.
